his legs around Vegas’s waist. One black Croc fell off Jackson’s foot and bounced across metal flooring with a soft tink-tink-ti-tink . Vegas sat Jackson atop the stacks of industrial-sized bags of sugar and stepped back, giving him an appraising look.
Jackson’s head fell coyly to one shoulder, and he lifted his legs, perched his feet on the edge of the sugar bag, and spread his legs wide, presenting himself to Vegas. “This is what you’re coming home to tonight,” Jackson said as he blushed.
“I waited too many damned years to count, and I’m so selfish that I’m not going to wait another fucking second,” Vegas said as he ripped off his apron and then went for his jeans.
Jackson swallowed and his pulse quickened. He had seen Vegas’s cock literally millions of times. There was no mystery to it anymore. But now that Vegas was whipping it out just for him, Jackson shivered like a virgin incubus undergoing his rite of passage, where he learned what his mouth, dick, and ass were for.
Vegas kicked off his sneakers, then pushed down his jeans with his boxer briefs, then stepped out of his jeans. His length jutted free, glistening and dripping with precum.
Jackson’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of Vegas’s nudity. His particular patterning of tattoo brands drew downward-sloping lines over his hips and then swirled like calligraphy over his lower belly.
Vegas looked down on Jackson over the tip of his nose. “Show it to me,” he commanded as he untied his bandanna.
Jackson wordlessly obeyed by pulling off his jeans and pushing them to his ankles. His breath frosted his lips as his cheeks burned and his cock twitched with every beat of his skittish heart.
Vegas nodded, his smile like a razor in the dim lighting of the walk-in. “Very nice. Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”
Jackson’s lip trembled. The dirty Vegas he had fallen in love with was back, and he had been struck dumb in his magnificence. He gave a slight nod.
Vegas bent forward over Jackson and then took him by the wrists. Jackson flushed hotly as Vegas lashed his wrists together with his bandanna, binding them behind his back. Vegas turned away and fished an apple out of a nearby crate. He stooped over Jackson. “Open,” he ordered Jackson in a firm, even tone.
Jackson licked his lips and then parted them wide.
Vegas nestled the apple between Jackson’s teeth. He shifted away again, grabbing a stick of butter from a neat stack, keeping it nearby.
Jackson clenched his jaw, biting down on the apple. Bound and gagged, he was at Vegas’s mercy.
Vegas cupped him under the rear again and lifted him, body to body. Vegas then carried him to the wall underneath the overhead compressor and pinned him there by his hips.
Jackson tensed as Vegas tore off the wax paper around the stick of butter, then reached underneath Jackson’s rear, smearing a generous amount over his hole. Jackson gasped around the cold sensation between his cheeks, but Vegas reached down and slid his hot fingers over Jackson’s needy entrance. Jackson thumped the back of his head on the freezer wall as he groaned around a mouthful of apple. Vegas’s fingers circling his hole was enough to push him dangerously close to the edge.
As much as his body protested, Jackson breathed deep, steadying himself. Incubi were built differently than most demons, able to regulate their physical signs of desire and their own pleasure to protect from climaxing too soon or to climax repeatedly. They were also easier to manipulate into arousal and readiness.
“Open for me,” Vegas said, gently pressing at his entrance.
Jackson sighed through his nose and relaxed against Vegas’s hand. He made a sharp gasp when Vegas entered him and then slowly worked him open wider. Fuck, this was really happening. He fell into the rhythm of Vegas finger-fucking him, hitting his prostate in just the right spot.
Vegas withdrew his fingers, and Jackson trembled as he was denied
Jackson’s head fell coyly to one shoulder, and he lifted his legs, perched his feet on the edge of the sugar bag, and spread his legs wide, presenting himself to Vegas. “This is what you’re coming home to tonight,” Jackson said as he blushed.
“I waited too many damned years to count, and I’m so selfish that I’m not going to wait another fucking second,” Vegas said as he ripped off his apron and then went for his jeans.
Jackson swallowed and his pulse quickened. He had seen Vegas’s cock literally millions of times. There was no mystery to it anymore. But now that Vegas was whipping it out just for him, Jackson shivered like a virgin incubus undergoing his rite of passage, where he learned what his mouth, dick, and ass were for.
Vegas kicked off his sneakers, then pushed down his jeans with his boxer briefs, then stepped out of his jeans. His length jutted free, glistening and dripping with precum.
Jackson’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of Vegas’s nudity. His particular patterning of tattoo brands drew downward-sloping lines over his hips and then swirled like calligraphy over his lower belly.
Vegas looked down on Jackson over the tip of his nose. “Show it to me,” he commanded as he untied his bandanna.
Jackson wordlessly obeyed by pulling off his jeans and pushing them to his ankles. His breath frosted his lips as his cheeks burned and his cock twitched with every beat of his skittish heart.
Vegas nodded, his smile like a razor in the dim lighting of the walk-in. “Very nice. Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”
Jackson’s lip trembled. The dirty Vegas he had fallen in love with was back, and he had been struck dumb in his magnificence. He gave a slight nod.
Vegas bent forward over Jackson and then took him by the wrists. Jackson flushed hotly as Vegas lashed his wrists together with his bandanna, binding them behind his back. Vegas turned away and fished an apple out of a nearby crate. He stooped over Jackson. “Open,” he ordered Jackson in a firm, even tone.
Jackson licked his lips and then parted them wide.
Vegas nestled the apple between Jackson’s teeth. He shifted away again, grabbing a stick of butter from a neat stack, keeping it nearby.
Jackson clenched his jaw, biting down on the apple. Bound and gagged, he was at Vegas’s mercy.
Vegas cupped him under the rear again and lifted him, body to body. Vegas then carried him to the wall underneath the overhead compressor and pinned him there by his hips.
Jackson tensed as Vegas tore off the wax paper around the stick of butter, then reached underneath Jackson’s rear, smearing a generous amount over his hole. Jackson gasped around the cold sensation between his cheeks, but Vegas reached down and slid his hot fingers over Jackson’s needy entrance. Jackson thumped the back of his head on the freezer wall as he groaned around a mouthful of apple. Vegas’s fingers circling his hole was enough to push him dangerously close to the edge.
As much as his body protested, Jackson breathed deep, steadying himself. Incubi were built differently than most demons, able to regulate their physical signs of desire and their own pleasure to protect from climaxing too soon or to climax repeatedly. They were also easier to manipulate into arousal and readiness.
“Open for me,” Vegas said, gently pressing at his entrance.
Jackson sighed through his nose and relaxed against Vegas’s hand. He made a sharp gasp when Vegas entered him and then slowly worked him open wider. Fuck, this was really happening. He fell into the rhythm of Vegas finger-fucking him, hitting his prostate in just the right spot.
Vegas withdrew his fingers, and Jackson trembled as he was denied
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